Read Online Ex and the Single Girl by Lani Diane Rich - Free Book Online
Authors: Lani Diane Rich
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morning one Sunday and dragged Butter, the crankiest milk cow ever to exist anywhere, all the way into town, and I left that ornery cow right there on her daddy ’ s lawn. Then I went to hide across the street, waiting for the family to wake up and get all ruffled so I could come in looking for my lost cow and save the day. Be the big hero, don ’ t you know.”
Trudy had come out of the house at that moment, crossing her arms and leaning against the doorjamb. She smiled at Morris, then looked down at me.
“ He telling the story of how he won my heart?” She and Morris exchanged looks, and she smiled at him as she fi nished the story. “ Fool puts a cow on my lawn, what did he think was gonna happen? My daddy saw that beast eating up his grass, and he got his shotgun, of course. The first time I noticed Mr. Morris Babb was when my mama was pulling buckshot outta his bac k side.”
They laughed together, her chipper giggle harmonizing with his rough bark, almost as if they ’ d been practicing it. I watched them, wondering at this strange world where a man fell in love with one woman and stuck long enough to harmonize a laugh. I made a quick excuse and rode my bike out to Beauji ’ s.
The next time I saw Trudy was at Morris ’ s funeral during my senior year of high school. I told her how sorry I was, and she stared at the funeral home wallpaper and said blankly that they ’ d had fifty-tw o years together; who could ask for more than that? I squeezed her hand, my mind unable to wrap itself around a man who ’ d stick for fifty-two years.
Now, I stepped out of my car in front of the Babb farmhouse and looked around. The cows were gone. The chic ken coop was empty. The big red barn still stood, but the color was dulled by years of inattention. A side door was open and seemed to be hanging a little crooked, as if the top hinge had given up hope. The farmhouse, however, looked just as it had the da y I ’ d ridden up to show the Babbs my pink ten-speed. I ’ d heard some rumbles about Bridge Wilkins keeping the place up and renting it out, bat since we weren ’ t allowed to discuss Bridge Wilkins in our house, I never did get the full story. At any rate, whoe v er had been taking care of the house had done a great job.
I grabbed the muffins from my passenger seat, walked up to the front door, and rang the bell. Moments later, the door opened, and there was Ian Beckett, wearing a pair of blue sweatpants and a plai n white T-shirt, leaning one hip against the doorway and sipping from a mug that read WORLD ’ S GREATEST GRANDMA.
“ This is a pleasant surprise,” he said, smiling down at me. “ Would you like to come in? We could pretend to have coffee.” I smiled at him, swing ing my left arm out and presenting him with the basket of muffins. “ I ’ m being neighborly.”
He took the basket from me. “ Thank you. That ’ s very thoughtful.” He stepped back, holding his body against the inside door while stretching out one arm to pin the sc reen door back for me. “ Please. Come in.”
I slid past him and turned around to face him as he stepped inside, letting the doors shut behind him. He caught my eyes and smiled. I smiled back and held up a hardcover copy of Clean Sweep.
“ I just was wondering if you could sign this for me. I ’ m a huge fan.”
Chapter Four
“ I ’ m sorry I don ’ t have any coffee,” Ian said, coming up behind me and putting a mug of steaming tea on the end table next to my side of the couch. “ I will have to get some soon.”
“ Don ’ t feel you have to give in to cultural pressure on my account,” I said, looking at the writing on the side of the mug before taking a sip. GRANDMA ’ S KITCHEN. “ I like tea just fine.”
Ian shrugged. “ When in Rome...”
We were quiet for a moment. Ian ’ s eyes dropped to the book sitting on the kitchen table between us.
“ Sorry about that, by the way.”
“ No big deal,” I said with a shrug. “ As
Trudy had come out of the house at that moment, crossing her arms and leaning against the doorjamb. She smiled at Morris, then looked down at me.
“ He telling the story of how he won my heart?” She and Morris exchanged looks, and she smiled at him as she fi nished the story. “ Fool puts a cow on my lawn, what did he think was gonna happen? My daddy saw that beast eating up his grass, and he got his shotgun, of course. The first time I noticed Mr. Morris Babb was when my mama was pulling buckshot outta his bac k side.”
They laughed together, her chipper giggle harmonizing with his rough bark, almost as if they ’ d been practicing it. I watched them, wondering at this strange world where a man fell in love with one woman and stuck long enough to harmonize a laugh. I made a quick excuse and rode my bike out to Beauji ’ s.
The next time I saw Trudy was at Morris ’ s funeral during my senior year of high school. I told her how sorry I was, and she stared at the funeral home wallpaper and said blankly that they ’ d had fifty-tw o years together; who could ask for more than that? I squeezed her hand, my mind unable to wrap itself around a man who ’ d stick for fifty-two years.
Now, I stepped out of my car in front of the Babb farmhouse and looked around. The cows were gone. The chic ken coop was empty. The big red barn still stood, but the color was dulled by years of inattention. A side door was open and seemed to be hanging a little crooked, as if the top hinge had given up hope. The farmhouse, however, looked just as it had the da y I ’ d ridden up to show the Babbs my pink ten-speed. I ’ d heard some rumbles about Bridge Wilkins keeping the place up and renting it out, bat since we weren ’ t allowed to discuss Bridge Wilkins in our house, I never did get the full story. At any rate, whoe v er had been taking care of the house had done a great job.
I grabbed the muffins from my passenger seat, walked up to the front door, and rang the bell. Moments later, the door opened, and there was Ian Beckett, wearing a pair of blue sweatpants and a plai n white T-shirt, leaning one hip against the doorway and sipping from a mug that read WORLD ’ S GREATEST GRANDMA.
“ This is a pleasant surprise,” he said, smiling down at me. “ Would you like to come in? We could pretend to have coffee.” I smiled at him, swing ing my left arm out and presenting him with the basket of muffins. “ I ’ m being neighborly.”
He took the basket from me. “ Thank you. That ’ s very thoughtful.” He stepped back, holding his body against the inside door while stretching out one arm to pin the sc reen door back for me. “ Please. Come in.”
I slid past him and turned around to face him as he stepped inside, letting the doors shut behind him. He caught my eyes and smiled. I smiled back and held up a hardcover copy of Clean Sweep.
“ I just was wondering if you could sign this for me. I ’ m a huge fan.”
Chapter Four
“ I ’ m sorry I don ’ t have any coffee,” Ian said, coming up behind me and putting a mug of steaming tea on the end table next to my side of the couch. “ I will have to get some soon.”
“ Don ’ t feel you have to give in to cultural pressure on my account,” I said, looking at the writing on the side of the mug before taking a sip. GRANDMA ’ S KITCHEN. “ I like tea just fine.”
Ian shrugged. “ When in Rome...”
We were quiet for a moment. Ian ’ s eyes dropped to the book sitting on the kitchen table between us.
“ Sorry about that, by the way.”
“ No big deal,” I said with a shrug. “ As
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